


Judgement

by Independence1776



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-04
Updated: 2009-06-04
Packaged: 2018-04-25 00:03:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4939039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Independence1776/pseuds/Independence1776
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the War of Wrath, Maglor surrenders to Eönwë.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Judgement

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Jen for looking this over, and especially to my beta Dawn Felagund.
> 
> This fic was nominated in the 2009 MEFAs.

Eönwë looked up at the Sinda, probably one of the encampment's perimeter guards, who poked his head through the tent's flap. "My lord, there is a man who wishes to speak with you."

The Herald of Manwë sighed and glanced at the lantern-lit travel desk littered with papers. The sons of Fëanor would, of course, not respond peacefully to his missive, and he had to plan for their arrival. "Send him in."  
  
The Sinda nodded and withdrew. The tent flap opened again, revealing the slowly brightening night sky, and a tall Elf covered in a dark gray cloak walked in. He lowered the hood with a hand only after the flap had completely closed, showing his weary face. Eönwë's mouth dropped open in shock at the son of Fëanor standing before him, cradling a small harp.  
  
Maglor half-smiled, bowed, and quietly said in Quenya, "My brother does not know I am here, so I do not know how much time we have before he discovers my absence." He took a deep breath and continued, voice cracking slightly. "I will return to Valinor. The Oath… I regret the day I swore it." He looked at Eönwë with tears in his eyes. "I willingly face judgement, for my crimes deserve nothing less, even if it means I face the Everlasting Darkness."  
  
"And what of Maitimo?"  
  
"He will learn I have betrayed him soon enough. It is the last treason of kin unto kin, one unexpected and unlooked for. He will come here for the Silmarils— and possibly for me."  
  
Eönwë nodded. "Do you understand what you have done?"  
  
Maglor closed his eyes. "I am under arrest. I will stand trial in the Máhanaxar. I will abide by the judgement of the Valar."  
  
Eönwë rose and walked over to the quiet Elf. He laid his hands on the Noldo's shoulders, causing Maglor to open his eyes. The Maia smiled and said, "This may be the hardest thing that you have done in your life, and I thank you for it."  
  
He then walked to the flap and called for several guards. One partly drew his sword when he saw Maglor, but Eönwë simply laid a hand on his arm, and the guard relaxed slightly. "You know who he is. Know now that he has surrendered. Guard him well, for his brother will not be pleased when he discovers what has occurred."  
  
The guards thoroughly searched Maglor for any hidden weapons, ignoring the herald who stood aside and watched. Maglor didn't complain at the rough handling, but watched the guard who removed the harp from his grasp and searched it as well. Once everyone was satisfied he was not carrying any weapons, the harp was returned to him, which he clutched desperately to his chest. He was then led from the tent, shoulders slumped but his head held high. Eönwë sighed and rubbed a hand across his eyes as he returned to his desk. This was something that he had not expected, and he knew it could cause further problems with the remaining son of Fëanor.

* * * * *

  
Elrond looked steadily at the Maia, though he was trembling inwardly. Why had he been called here, along with his brother? They had been with the main camp for well over two decades. Was Eönwë going to ask for details about their foster father and uncle, as he had done before? He knew that they had demanded the Silmarils, but had been refused. What would happen now?  
  
"Neither of you are in trouble, Eärendilionath. I wished merely to inform you that your foster father surrendered to me late last night. I will allow you to see him if you desire."  
  
Elros immediately shook his head. "He was the best father he could have been, but it wasn't enough. He should have left us alone, and he wouldn't have had to _be_ a father."  
  
Elrond remained silent, stunned, but nodded once. Elros stared at him, and Elrond sighed. He had always been closer to Maglor, and yet again, that fact had caused the slight rift between them to grow greater.  
  
Eönwë looked at him and smiled gently. "A guard will escort you. Elros, please stay."  
  
The Half-elves bowed and Elrond slipped out of the tent, meeting the Maiarin guard who had retrieved them from sword practice. Elrond informed him of his decision and followed him to a small blue tent, placed as far away from the Silmarils as possible while still being in Eönwë's immediate vicinity. Guards ringed it, half of them facing in, the other out, and some with swords drawn. Elrond faltered and the guard with him gently touched his shoulder. The Half-elf looked up and smiled shakily, drawing a deep breath to regain his courage at meeting his foster father for the first time in years. He could do this. They finally reached the tent, the flap was untied, and he was gestured inside. He took a deep breath, ducked through the opening, and straightened once inside the tent proper.  
  
Maglor glanced up from where he was sitting on a low wooden cot, pausing in writing something. His eyes widened and he moved the lap desk, setting it on the bed next to him while being careful not to spill the ink, and stood up. "I never imagined you would come."  
  
Elrond half-smiled. "I had to see you, to understand why you did this."  
  
"You know why, if you are still as astute as you seemed to be when you were younger."  
  
"I wanted to hear it from you, not my extrapolations."  
  
Maglor nodded and sat back on the bed. He reached out, strummed the strings of the harp set on a low table at the head of the bed, and put his hands back in his lap, interlacing his fingers, looking everywhere but at his foster son. "I… I regret everything. I have never been one to question authority nor to defy, save for the events that occurred during the Darkening. My father… he meant more to me than the Valar. It never once occurred to me to ask myself if he was wrong. I obeyed him in all things. Now, for the second time, I have rebelled. It sits heavy on my heart, but at the same time, I know it is the right thing to do." He looked up and met his foster son's eyes. "Please forgive me, for everything I did to you."  
  
Elrond knelt down at Maglor's feet, leaning against his legs as he had when he was younger and listening to the Noldo tell stories. "Father, I forgave you several years ago. I do not rescind that."  
  
"Elros?"  
  
"I doubt he will anytime soon. But he is allowed that."  
  
Maglor placed a hand on Elrond's shoulder. "I know. And I thank you."  
  
Elrond smiled and met his eyes. "You're my father. How could I not?"

 

* * * * *

  
The Telerin captain stared at the Elf in disbelief. Yes, he was in chains and heavily guarded. He had no weapons, his only possession save clothing a harp. But to allow a son of Fëanáro on board? It did not matter that the Elf was returning to face trial. He was still a Kinslayer. He was still the one who had killed her father.  
  
But she would not gainsay a Maia, especially the Herald of Manwë. The Noldo was led below deck and locked into a small cabin. He would be allowed out only once a day, at dusk. His personal needs would be taken care of by a chamber pot. The less anyone saw of Makalaurë, the better.

* * * * *

  
Maglor stood in the center of the Ring of Doom, head slightly bowed and waiting for judgement, trying desperately not to shift from foot to foot. The crowd was silent beyond the thrones. The Valar communicated silently with one another, only flickers of expressions crossing their faces. Maglor clenched his jaw, wishing he knew what they were saying. Finally, Manwë leaned forward.  
  
"Before we declare thy punishment, thou must answer one question. What would thou do with the last Silmaril?"  
  
Maglor swayed slightly on his feet. If he answered wrongly, the wrath of the Valar would fall on him, and him alone. He was the last of the House of Fëanor, all others dead. Maedhros, having only been able to steal one Silmaril, had cast himself and it into a chasm of fire when the jewel would not suffer his touch. Maglor took a deep breath, trying not to panic. He finally looked up at the Elder King and said quietly, "I would throw it into the Sea. For did not Lord Mandos say that the fates of Arda, earth, sea, and air, lay locked within them? Your herald told me that Eärendil has one in the air and Maedhros the earth. It is only mete that the last be thrown into the Sea."  
  
"So be it," Mandos intoned.  
  
Maglor stared at him in surprise, and flinched when Eönwë appeared in front of him, holding the last Silmaril. The Noldo stared at it, glanced at the blank-faced Maia, and then at the Elder King. The Valar _wanted_ him to take the Silmaril? Lord Manwë nodded and Maglor slowly reached out towards the jewel. He hesitated just before he took it in his right hand, dreading the deserved pain he knew would come.  
  
And come it did. The Silmaril did not suffer his touch. He screamed and collapsed to the ground, letting the jewel roll out of his hand to stop at Eönwë's feet. The Maia simply picked it up, wrapped it in cloth, and placed the small bundle at Maglor's side. He then disappeared while Maglor gasped in pain. The Valar departed as well, save for Lady Estë and Lord Mandos. The former came over to him, touched his burned hand lightly, and the pain faded, though the burn was not healed. She, like the rest, then disappeared.  
  
Mandos walked over to him, lifted the Elf to his feet, and handed him the bundle. Together, the two walked out of the Máhanaxar and the large crowd separated before them. They mounted two horses, Maglor being careful not to jar his hand while he did so, and the two headed to the coast. Neither stopped to rest, Maglor in slowly increasing pain that reminded him exactly what he must do. They finally reached a cliff and the Noldo dismounted and slowly walked to the edge. He carefully unwrapped the fabric covering the Silmaril, not wanting to accidentally touch it, and stared into the light. He couldn't help but remember his first sight of the jewels, his father's increasing jealousy and paranoia about them, locking them in a vault in Formenos, and finally the Kinslayings. He closed his eyes, choked back a sob, and threw it into the Sea.

* * * * *

 

"Do you think he will recover?" Irmo asked his brother as they watched, from behind a copse of silver willows, the Elf wander around the small clearing and cabin in Lórien, exploring the bounds of the only place in Valinor he was permitted to be.  
  
"In time," Mandos responded. "His hand will heal before his spirit. Your wife will make sure of that."  
  
Irmo smiled. "None of us like seeing any of the Children in pain. He has suffered enough."  
  
"He will suffer more, as he comes to terms with his past and his future. He does not know how hard a life he will live once he is permitted to leave Lórien."  
  
Mandos departed, leaving Irmo to watch the Noldo in silence. He stayed there for a time, only leaving when Maglor, weeping quietly to himself, lay down on the soft grass to look at the stars.


End file.
